Page 7 of Chameleon Killer

Two

MALLORY

The applause followed me all the way off the stage. It sounded hollow once the studio lights were behind me.

Someone from production smiled and thanked me for coming. Another handed me a bottle of water. Someone else asked if I'd be willing to pose for a quick photograph with the host.

I smiled.

Declined.

Kept walking.

I unplugged the microphone pack as I moved. I didn’t want to be on a hot mic of any kind. The fact no one tried to take it from me suggested they wouldn’t be opposed to catching me out.

The makeup room they'd assigned me wasn't much larger than a walk-in closet, but it had a locking door and, at the moment, that made it feel like sanctuary.

I stepped inside.

Closed the door.

And locked it.

A second later someone tested the handle.

Of course they did.

I closed my eyes.

"Elliot."

Silence.

Then his voice carried through the wood.

"We should talk."

"We've been talking for three weeks."

"No," he said evenly. "You've been avoiding me."

I pulled the pins from my hair one at a time, dropping them onto the counter beside the mirror.

"I've been working." If he wanted to have the conversation through a closed door, I couldn’t stop him. “You shouldn’t make this all about you, Elliot.”

At some point, I’d stopped calling him Brewster or even Agent Brewster. Brewster demanded distance and agent offered him authority. I didn’t want to accommodate him.

Not anymore.

“Mallory…” He blew out a breath. Frustrated, was he?

How sad for him.

“Open the door.”

“No.” I didn’t think it needed to be said, but I said it anyway. I caught my own reflection.

Foundation.